


Everybody Deserves A Second Chance

by hybrid_bpv



Series: Everybody Deserves A Second Chance [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Love/Hate, Romance, Romantic Friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-19
Updated: 2013-09-18
Packaged: 2017-12-24 01:39:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/933635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hybrid_bpv/pseuds/hybrid_bpv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is it. This is the story of Clint and Natasha, from the beginning until the very end. Every last detail from how they met, their partnership, their adventures... From friendship to their love-hate relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Budapest

**Author's Note:**

> This one will be a long one. You may have noticed that I deleted some of my earlier works... That's because I knew that they could be better. At first, I meant them to be one-shots. But then I got hooked on writing, and now I'm chaining together some of my older stories (which have been edited) and adding some cool transition-y stuff in the middle.
> 
> This is at least 10x better, I can assure you.
> 
> So, I'm going to cut the bullshit and let you read (: xx

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What really happened in Budapest?

**_January 7th, 2006._ **

_Mission update, over._

_Roger, over._

_Target is in Budapest, over._

_Is back-up needed? Over._

_Back-up is not required, over._

_Estimated time to completion, over?_

_Exact time cannot be predicted, over._

_Good luck, Agent Barton._

_Thanks, Agent Coulson._

* * *

The archer turned the transmitter off with a sigh. It'd been 5 months since he'd had any sort of break. The reason?

The Black Widow.

The most dangerous assassin that he will ever meet.

He'd been sent to kill her.

She was known for her immense abilities - her speed, her agility, her cognitive reserve… her  _beauty_. Natalia Romanova was her name.

The most dangerous name he'll ever come across.

For the past 5 months, Clint had tailed her from country to country. Heck, he'd had to shave and go blond for the sake of it.

And for the past 5 months - he'd seen more red than in his lifetime.

_She's working for a group known as the "Red Room". I know, ominous name, ain't it. From what we know, she's an assassin with skills beyond Olympic material. Ballet, gymnastics, you name it. Take as long as you need, Agent Barton. But do be quick._

Clint chuckled as he recalled Fury's briefing.

_We're sending you in because you're familiar with the situation. And because you'll have finally met your match._

And for the past 5 months, Clint had to admit that she'd exceeded all his expectations. She was so much quicker - so much smarter than he thought she would be. Before her, he crossed path with a lady by the name of Black Lotus. She probably had half the intellect and a quarter the skill that Romanova did.

* * *

It was at sun-down that he found her trail of blood.

Still freshly red, when all the other puddles had began to turn brown. _Oxidation._  Yes, of course. The work that the KGB did meant that her blood took 10, if not 20 times the normal person to lose oxygen. The effects of the super-soldier serum. Sometimes, Clint wish he had it in him.

Clint wished that he was faster, more indestructible - a better soldier.

But then, again, he  _is_  the world's greatest marksman.

Bodies scattered in the building she entered only 20 minutes ago. There had to be at least 15 of them. The cold corpses, necks twisted into angles too painful to even look at. Clint could only imagine the scenario - rapid gunfire, cross combat. Even if they outnumbered her so greatly, they were no match for her. It would take years upon years of training to even stand a chance.

 _The Widow has great thighs_. Clint chuckled darkly, just as Fury did when he slid a picture of her doings towards him on the table.

_Yes, she does._

Moving along quickly, he found a trail of blood too fresh to be of her targets. There were bullet holes in the walls. She took them on alone.

That's the way they did it:  _Alone._  Because anything else would be a burden. Anything else would be a problem.

His boots clicked against the cold cement as he tracked the trail. She'd stopped bleeding half-way, but it was pretty obvious where she had to go. Either the hospital, which was highly unlikely, or somewhere remote - somewhere no one would go. Somewhere she could wait for the serum to heal her, to work its' magic.

This was his chance.

His boots slid off smoothly as Clint placed them back in his bag. With his clothed feet, he silently made his way up, his sharp eyes scanning every last corner of the building.

And there she was, on the floor, her head rested against the wall.

The Black Widow was bleeding out.

With a hand pressed against the ugly, gushing wound on her ribcage, she looked up to find the archer with his bow and arrow aimed at her. A fleeting chuckle passed her sharp features. A hand swept across her belt to reach for the handgun.

"Don't." Clint just tutted. "My arrow is faster than you'll ever be."

"Was worth a shot. No pun intended." Her raspy voice had a casual tone to it, but it was weak. Natalia had kept all the shaking, all the nerves out of it. Like the perfectly skilled and accomplished spy that she is, she plastered on her best smile, welcoming the agent.

"I'm sure you're aware of your situation, _Natalia._ " Clint said as he moved closer to her, step by step, his movements deliberate as he inched towards the small woman.

"You took your boots off… smart." She sighed.  _What are we in, the 16th century?_  "If you're going to do it, do it now. You may not get a second chance."

"Any last words?" His muscular arm drew his bowstring back, ready to make the final move. Clint knelt down beside her, his arrow pressed onto her sternum, cornering her against the wall. _A second chance… A second chance…_

His arrow scratched her forehead, ready to take her life.

Natalia looked at him, sighing her final breath as she blinked, closing her eyes for the last time. _You are ready to die._

The air between them crackled - neither of them dared to breathe.

_Everybody deserves a second chance…_

Those were the words that struck Clint to join SHIELD. If those words were never uttered, he wouldn't be here. If Phil had continued with his "your skill set is unmatched" bullshit, Clint could've sworn he would cry hysterically. But right when he was about to, Phil had uttered those 5 words.

The words that changed his life.

"Everybody deserves a second chance." Clint sighed, lowering his bow and arrow, keeping his weight pressed on her knees. His thumb brushed against the small scratch on her forehead, wiping away the blood.

The assassin frowned, her eyes opening again. "What do you mean? You mean you're going to kill me some other time? What is this - a game to you?"

"No." He shook his head, stating simply. "No… It means I'm giving you a second chance."

"What if I kill you now?" She stroked the gun that was holstered on her belt.

"You don't kill unless there's a reason for it. You've accomplished your mission." Clint sighed.

"You tried to kill me."

"Fair enough… Still. I've seen your doings. Magnificent body count, even if you try to minimise it."

The archer placed his bow and arrow on the floor, shrugging off his bag and opening it and fished for something. There was a circular piece of metal, the size of his palm.

"You're not going anywhere any time soon." He chuckled, eyeing her wounds. "But still, one must take their precautions when dealing with the infamous Black Widow."

"What are you doing?" Natalia frowned as he locked the anklet in place. It beeped to life with a green light, blinking every 5 seconds.

"Ankle tracker." He shrugged.

"I know what it is, but what are  _you_  doing?" The Widow reached up weakly to grab him by his collar. "Weren't you sent to kill me?"

"I was." He nodded, standing up and sliding his transmitter out from his bag, brushing her hand idly off him. "But rules are made to be broken. I'll be a minute."

Natalia Romanova sat in the corner, bewildered by the man's words.

_Everybody deserves a second chance._

What  _was_  it in his voice, his look? The softness that surfaced when he lowered his bow, almost as if he was hurt. The gentleness in his touch when he placed the metal ring around her.  _Forgiveness._

Forgiveness wasn't something Natalia was so familiar with. She'd read it in dictionaries, but that was it. There was no forgiveness in the Red Room - no forgiveness in her field of expertise, and yet, such man; such an ordinary man could think of it?

_Emotions are a weakness. Stay away from them._

Her mentor's words from her younger years echoed in her brain - the voice she knew, the voice she feared so greatly. _You have to detach yourself from any emotion, regardless on the field or otherwise. They will cost you the mission. Stay cool and heartless - your country requires your service._

She watched him as he moved. He was near perfection. Such body of a man - toned muscles, straight posture, correct stance as he paced around. His silhouette etched on her eyes as she followed him. There was no aspect of him that didn't show his weathered past. Beyond his thick jacket, Natalia could imagine - the scars… the evidence of his years on the field. The physical marks on him, staining him.

"This is Agent Barton reporting." Clint uttered clearly into the phone, his humour drier than usual.

"Clint? Is everything alright? Why are you calling my mobile?" Phil's concern passed through in his tone.

"I'm fine. Listen, I have her."

"You  _have_  her…"  _It means he hasn't killed her._ Phil sighed. "This better be good."

"You know how you said that she's the most dangerous thing I will ever come across?"

"Mhm."

"She doesn't have to die."

"Clint - not this again."

"No, listen to what I'm trying to say. She has information… A lot of information. She has the skill set, the intelligence."

"But she - "

"Phil…" Clint sighed, pausing for one moment, relaying his words to him. "Everybody deserves a second chance."

Agent Coulson stood, his foot tapping as the words sank in. Those were the exact words that convinced the world's greatest marksman to join SHIELD. Those were the words that changed who he was - gave him a new life.

Clint listened for his response, but on the other end, all was silent. "Phil?"

"Yes. I'm still with you." He sighed. "Look, Clint, this isn't going to go well with Fury and - "

"He values your opinion. He puts it higher than anyone else's. You'll figure something out, right?" Clint pleaded.

"If she refuses, you kill her. Understood?" Phil spoke sternly.

"Roger that."

Clint clicked the red button as he returned to where the assassin was. "How are we holding up?"

"Better than ever, obviously." She scoffed, half-hissing her words.

"So injured, still ever the silver tongue." Clint chuckled, taking a seat on the floor in front of her.

"Why?"

"Why do you have a silver tongue?"

"No. Why are you doing this? You could've easily killed me. Was it all too easy for you?" Natalia questioned, her rage boiling up inside of her. "Is it because I'm too weak now?"

"It's because I've faced a similar situation." He shook his head, almost apologetically. "I've been in your place. I know how you feel."

"You don't know  _anything_!" She hissed, clutching her wounds.

"Join me."

"What?"

"Work for SHIELD. Join me." He pursed his lips. "Or I have to kill you. I know your abilities - you're the most fascinating being I've ever seen work. You complete your missions. Although you lack a moral compass, you do the job and you do it very well."

Natalia frowned, her brows knitting into a knot on her forehead.

"I'm doing this because there's more to it than just killing on behalf. There's more to it than the slaughter, the pain. Work for SHIELD - you'll have your own freedom. I've heard about what they do in the Red Room, and frankly, if I were you, I wouldn't last."

"They only mean the best for my country." She spat defensively.

"And look what that's gotten you into." He eyed her bleeding wounds, hovering a thumb over her. "Look - you have a target, a price on the back of your head. Sooner or later, Interpol's going to find you, and when they do; they're not going to be offering what I am."

"You were originally going to kill me. Up until the moment where your arrow touched my head."

"Yes."

"Why didn't you?"

"Because there was a frailty in your eyes." He stated, his voice softening. "Your eyes… they looked apologetic." Almost as if searching for salvation.

The assassin pursed her lips together. _Such child! He knows nothing about you, and he's pretending to be an old friend._ "Bullshit."

"Think about it." Clint sighed, propping himself on his elbows as he leaned back, closing his eyes. " _It matter not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll…_ "

" _I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul…_ " Natalia finished off his stanza. _Invictus…_

_Soul._

Such a topic to touch on, having only known her for a few minutes. It all became clear to her - the clouds shrouding her eyes had vanished. Her jade green eyes brighter, sharper than ever.  _Because he has soul_. He's an assassin - a sniper, by the looks of it, but he has soul.

Like her.

Never had she come across a person who thought that she had heart, that she had a soul. For her - it was too broken for the segments to be put back together. It would take God, himself, to descend from heaven and give her His blessings.

"кто ты?  _Who are you?_ " Her voice tugged at her throat as she whispered, emotions threatening to seep through.

" _Clint Barton._ " He replied. "Это приятно, наконец, встретиться с вами. я могу исцелить ваши раны? _It's nice to finally meet you. Can I treat your wounds?_ " His Russian was fluent, although a hint of an accent. 

She nodded hesistantly.

The archer reached into his bag for the medical kit as she peeled her shirt off of the wounds. His calloused digits worked the cotton and gauze on her skin, softly cleaning the blood and ugly gash.

"Alright." She sighed, loosening up.

"What?" He frowned as he looked up.

"I'll come with you. It's not like I have a choice anyway." She stated. "I could kill you, but… My instincts are telling me to go with you."

"That's great. Can you walk? It's more comfortable in the safe house."

"Okay. I'll be fine." Clint watched her prop herself up as she winced at the movement. "Here, let me help you."

"I don't need your help." She hissed, swatting his arm away.

They walked slowly and silently to his car. The cool breeze tingled on her skin, blood caked on her clothes, but his body was warm against hers as he insisted to drape her arm over his shoulders.

* * *

"You stay put. You have the serum, right? How long do you think it's going to take before you can move properly again?" He asked, changing his set of clothes in the bathroom. Clint checked the zipties on her wrists before nodding, satisfied.

"A few hours." She stated.

"Well, I'm going to the bar for a few drinks." Clint huffed, shrugging his jacket on as he opened the door. "The key's with me. Don't try anything funny."

Natalia sat stupidly on the bed. _You might as well rest up… It's not like you can do anything without him knowing with this… thing on._

Pulling a stool towards him at the bar, he sighed and made his order. As usual - Whiskey on rocks.

_What have you gotten yourself into? First - you disobey orders to save her, then you ask her to_ **_join_ ** _you? Get a fucking grip, Barton. It's not even your fucking call! Fury's going to give you shit when you go back, so you might as well make the most of tonight._

* * *

After God knows how many Whiskeys, Clint made his way back to the room, fumbling with the keys.

The assassin heard the jingle and sat upright, despite the protest of her ribs. By now, the wound had sealed itself. _How many has he had?_  Natalia took a read on him.  _Around 180 pounds… so… 8 drinks?_

"Good to see you're still here." The archer's words were slurred, he slumped onto the bed next to her.

"What if I kill you?" She arched a perfect, red brow.

"You won't know how to get that thing off. SHIELD will give you hell about it." Clint laughed.

"I'm sure I'll figure it out." She spat.

"You go ahead." Clint waited for her next words, which didn't come. "I'm meeting my handler at seven a.m. sharp. You're coming with."

* * *

The pair set off at 0500 hours, walking in the dark on the main road. Something was off. Everything was too silent.

The town was consumed by the darkness. What little of streetlights they had flickered with inconsistency. It was a chilly night, bitter winds picking up from time to time. Freshly showered, Clint took Natasha down the path as instructed.

A sudden fire of a gun.

The bullet had merely missed Clint by a palm's length.

"What the fuck?" Clint hissed as he dodged, pulling both of them to the side, behind a building.

"Calibre?" She asked.

"Eight mil, I think."

"They're with them."

"Them? They? Are you going to explain?"

"The nest I wiped out. Apparently, it wasn't all of them."

"Ahh…" Clint nodded, analysing the situation. "How many?"

"I don't know. At least a dozen." She frowned. "Look - are you going to give me a gun, or something?"

"Belt." He nodded as he whipped out his retractable bow and reached for some arrows. "You shoot me, you know what happens."

"The SHIELD thing comes after my ass. I gotcha." She quipped. "Ready?"

"When you are."

The pair stood as one, running out, Natalia covering Barton. A series of 5 arrows were fired.

And as always, he never missed.

"Does SHIELD equip  _everyone_  with such ridiculous equipment?" The assassin asked, her bullets quickly taking down 3 of her own.

"What, my bow? It's the weapon of my choice, I love it!"

"I can see that, Robin Hood."

"Now, now, Romanova." Clint and Natasha both sighed simultaneously when the last thug was taken down. "They underestimate us, sending these… _amateurs_."

She laughed at the look of disgust on his face. "My thoughts exactly. You're still red from the booze."

"Oh yeah? You can tell? Dammit." He chortled. "Oh… Russians are Orthodox, aren't they?"

"Yes, we are."

"С Рождеством! _Merry Christmas!_ " The Russian came out slurred, with a thicker accent this time.

"спасибо. _Thank you._ " She returned, her words smooth, like silk. "и вам тоже. _And to you too._ "

* * *

Clint sat next to Phil, opposite Natalia on the chopper.

"You know - of all the stunts you've pulled, I'd say this one was the worst." Phil chuckled as he eyed Natalia.

"Have you ever read The Hobbit?" Clint asked, tired, scratching his head.

"Yes. What about it?" Phil raised an eyebrow.

" _True courage is about knowing not when to take a life but when to spare one._ "

"Gandalf… The old man speaks words of wisdom."

"You did the same for me, Phil."

"You like making references, don't you?" Natalia butt-in to their conversation. Phil only chuckled.

"I have my way of doing things." Clint smirked.

"We're going to touch down at base in a moment, Clint. Would you  _please_  put on the belt and  _fasten_  it!" Phil muttered.

"Fine, fine." Clint reached up and pulled the cord across his body, huffing out. "Welcome to SHIELD."

 

 

 

**~END CHAPTER~**

 


	2. The New Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha Romanoff was never a people person.

A week after Budapest - Natalia was still getting used to the SHIELD life. They had been so much more welcoming, warmer than she'd ever expected. There was no such warmth in the Red Room.

 _Agent Coulson will be your handler._  Fury had said, officially introducing Phil Coulson. The small, middle-aged man looked as if no threat, but it seemed like he had a lot of respect from all other members of their society. _We'll see whether he deserves it…_

"Miss Romanova." Phil Coulson's voice rang inside her voice, bringing her back to the interrogation room. They sat opposite each other with an empty, white table between them.

"Yes, I'm sorry." She apologised slowly. The way that they did things here was too… soft.

"How are you adapting to your new life?" At least Agent Coulson attempted the small talk.

"I'm… well, thank you." Natalia eyed the one way glass on her left, only guessing who was behind it. _Probably the director…. and the archer._

"I just have to ask you a few personal questions to fill in your official statement of recruit. Your full name, please?"

"Natalia Alianovna Romanova, although…" She sighed.

"Hm?"

"I would like to be called Natasha Romanoff." She shifted uncomfortably, sensing the _oh_  from his expression. "Natalia was my past. If I, no… I would prefer using the non-formal way to preserve my identity."

"I see." Phil nodded as he jotted her words down in neat script. "And your birthday?"

"Twenty fourth of November, eighty nine." She recited easily.

"Any… relatives, associates?"

"My foster father…" She gulped silently. "Ivan Petrovitch. He died."

"Languages?"

"Russian is my first language." She stated. "English, German, Polish, French, Italian and Spanish and Latin, though they are basically the same, and Mandarin."

"Natural hair colour?"

"Red - this colour."

Phil nodded.

"Weapon of choice?"

"Bite."

"Bite? As in… your teeth?" Phil raised a brow.

"No… Widow's bite, my electro-bracelet. I'm also trained in a range of martial arts, but the bite is by far the most convenient."

"Ah… So, it has a name." He smiled easily. "Anything else?"

"Handguns, pistols, guns in general, although I'm better with short range weapons. I see you have the long ranged sniper sorted." She snickered at the glass before looking back at Phil.

"Skills and abilities?"

"I'm not a mutant from the X-Men." She furrowed her brows, almost angry, but that quickly dissolved. "I seduce. I kill. I fight. Just the normal stuff."

"Any other things we need to know?"

"I think you've got it sorted, judging by the intimacy that Agent Barton showed knowledge to. If anything pops up, though, I'll let you know." She shrugged.

"Right. I need to take a photo for your access card and profile."

* * *

Fury and Barton stood, crossed armed as they watched Phil take the shots.

"She really grows on you, doesn't she?" Fury said, keeping his eye on her.

"That's the way I would put it."

"Agent Coulson told me you were nearly shot on the mission. That's not like you."

"Sir, with a decision like that, I had to wash it away somehow."

"Do you regret it?"

"No, of course not." Clint chuckled. "I think our agents, both male  _and_  female are glad that I brought her back."

Fury only raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "You seem more at ease."

"Well… I did a good thing, didn't I?"

"That you did… that you did."

"I think they're done. What's next?"

"Lunch, and then her psycho-analysis and physical examination."

"When's she doing the official assessment?

"Tomorrow." Fury moved his hands to his hips. "Go get some food, Agent Barton. You're enjoying yourself way too much."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

"Heya, Natasha." Clint slipped himself into the chair opposite her in the lunch room. It'd been the 6th time in a week that he'd attempted to start a conversation with her.

At first, Natasha thought she would be like all the other Agents that had taken the initiative to talk to her; either to pick her up, or to weigh her up. She liked neither of the options.

That problem didn't exist with Clint Barton.

The usual lust that exhibited in the men's eyes was dimmed down so she only got a hint of it. He knew what she was made of - what she was up to, so the weighing up option didn't fit the criteria either. It was his infectious passion, enthusiasm, his warm smile that was the problem.

"Hi." She simply huffed, chewing faster.

"Come on! Be a good sport. I get some credit for saying 'hi', at least." Clint chuckled as he prodded his salmon.

"I would like to keep myself unattached until the official documents have been sent in."

"Boo… You're no fun!" The archer pouted childishly.

It was as if he was a different person. From the cold, analytical Barton to the fun and smiley Clint. All it took was the thumbs up from Phil and he would spin 180 degrees.

"Fine. What do you want to talk about?" Natasha rolled her eyes, almost sighing.

"Anything you want."

"Why are you smiling?"

"Because you're willing to talk to me."

_Oh…_

"Why do you choose your bow and arrow of all the weapons?"

"Because I feel as if they are a part of me." He shrugged, pursing his lips together to find a suitable explanation. "You know when you train with something so much that it becomes not only natural, but an extension to your body. You just trust that it works, because you've done it so many times before. It's kind of like that."

She nodded knowingly.  _So, you're not the only one._

"How do you know Russian?"

"I learnt it in my spare time. Fury thought it'd be useful for my fieldwork."

"How long did it take?"

"The basics? Around… two weeks, give or take?"

They shared a long, pregnant pause, neither of them chewing, but looking directly into each other's eyes.

"You don't talk much, do you?"

"There's nothing good to talk about."

"You don't talk to a lot of people either."

"Neither do you." Natasha raised a brow at him. "The only ones I've seen you have a decent conversation with are Agent Coulson and the Director. And if I push it, Agent Hill."

"Point taken."

"So, why me?" She asked. "So many people you could've sat with. You probably know them better anyway. Why me?"

"I don't know."  _You feel yourself drawn to her, that's why_. "Maybe you're nearly as good as me?"

"I can kick your sorry ass any day."

"I'll take your word for it."

"Agent Barton." She nodded as she dapped at her mouth with a napkin, picking up the tray and standing up.

"Agent Romanoff." He returned the nod, standing for etiquette to see her off.

* * *

"We'll start with some simple word pairings. Have you done them before? They're simple." Phil asked, eyeing the sheets in front of him. Of course, he was only asking the questions. The man in charge with emitting agents was behind the glass, with Clint and Fury.

"Yes."

"For example, I might say 'bird', and your answer would be?"

"Sky."

"Yes… Very good. Let's see…" Coulson skimmed the rows of words. "Age?"

"Youth." _Time._

"Love?"

"Bliss."  _Vulnerability._

"Night?"

"Sleep."  _Oppurtunity._

"Discipline?"

"Education."  _Whip._

"Family?"

"House."  _Dead._

"Children?"

"Lovely."  _Impossible._

"Health?"

"Doctor."  _Apple._

"Heart?"

"Blood."  _Target._

"We'll move on to the next sections. The Rorscharch test. Ink blotches? You've seen them before?" Phil asked, taking a few breathers before shuffling the sheets to rearrange their placements. Natasha nodded. "Tell me the first thing that you see - we'll do five of them."

The first image was placed in front of her.

Natasha picked it up, running the possibilities through her head. "It looks like a butterfly?"

"Okay, how about this one?"

"A flower."

They ran through all five cards before Phil could tell that she was bored out of her bones. "I think we're done here…"

Natasha sighed a breath of relief.

"Tell me, Natasha…" Phil scratched his head idly. "What do you think about Clint?"

"I think he's an idiot." She scoffed, moving herself forwards to lean against the table. "For saving me."  _No assassin should have mercy. He didn't complete his mission. Another fault of sentiment… But he saved your life. He may be ignorant and naive, but he saved your life. You owe him. You rather he'd not. You fucking hate owing people - especially when it comes to something big like this._

"I see." The agent chuckled. "Well, you only have the physical examination to take place, and the field assessment tomorrow and you're good to go. Paperwork's been cleared."

"Thank you. Shall I go now?" Natasha leaned back, sighing.  _More boring bullshit._

"I'll lead the way."

"An idiot." Fury smirked. "I'd agree."

"I'm your best agent, Director." Clint easily retorted.

"That you are."

"I know I am."

"You made the right choice, Clint. You've been so much happier these few days." Fury smiled before leaning against the wall.

"Thank you." Barton sighed. "You familiar with Tennessee Williams?"

"Who isn't?"

"Well, he said something somewhere, I don't remember where I know this from, but;  _Hell is yourself an the only redemption is when a person puts himself aside to feel deeply for another person._ "

"I swear you're just making shit up. How do you remember so many quotes?"

"I have no idea."

"How's she doing on paper, doc?"

"She's all clear."

 _Yeah, right._  The two assassins thought collectively. _As if she couldn't recite the correct answers backwards already._

"I have some new things you might want to try out." Fury tapped Clint on the shoulder.

"Will do, sir." He nodded. "Are they in the arsenal, or the lab?"

"They?" Fury chuckled. "No, no, no. Tomorrow. Be at the training room at ten, sharp. Make sure you've digested your breakfast first."

"Yes, sir."

"You're in very good shape." The nurse eyed Natasha's body jealously.

"Thanks." She sighed. "I work hard for it."

"Measurements?"

"What?"

"I need them for reference to order uniform."

"Thirty six, twenty four, thirty six."

"Okay." She bit her lip as the pen worked on the paper. Natasha read her like an open book. With a magnifying glass. The jealousy was carved into her eyes like a fucking sculpture. "Please proceed to sit on the chair and cover your eye with the patch, read out what you can from the list."

"I have twenty-twenty vision."

"Please co-operate."

"E, M, Z, 2, S, Q, 1, 0, 3…" Natasha read the list off quickly.

"And on the other eye. I'm changing the board."

"J, 8, D, X, A, 3, 1, B, T…" She said again.

"Open your mouth."

"AH."

A thermometer was prodded roughly on her tongue.

* * *

After an hour of various scans and prods, she was finally done.

Natasha made her way back to the dining area to find Clint already on the corner table that she usually occupied. She smirked.

"How did the examinations go?" Clint asked brightly as she joined him.

"It's a physical examination. What do you expect?"

"Well, I don't know. The serum - doesn't it make you superhuman?"

"It's supposed to. But that's all shown _tomorrow._  Today was the boring stuff. Temperature, heart rate, eye checks, posture and bones, blood work… _breast examinations._ " She smirked, letting her last words fall out carefully. _Why'd you do that, again? Ah… yes._

Clint's breath obviously hitched in his throat as his mind filled with the image of her wonderful cleavage for a split second, but he quickly dismissed the thought and faked a cough.

Natasha watched as she fucked with his mind. His pupils dilated, lips parted… all the usual responses. She gave herself a content smile.  _So you_ ** _do_**   _have the usual effect on him._

"What do you do in the assessments?" She asked, stirring her tea mindlessly.

"Oh, you know… targets, pushups, pullups, running five k, treat assessment, response times - that type of stuff. Much more interesting than the things today." Clint looked up to recall his entry assessment.

"Yes, I can imagine."

"So, I'm an idiot, huh?"

"Yes." _He_ ** _was_** _behind the glass… as expected._

"I'm a happy idiot, then."

"I should go to sleep early, then?" She laughed as she picked up her tray. "Need my energy for the assessment."

"Oh, come  _on_!" Clint pouted. "You're the famous Black Widow… You're unstoppable."

* * *

_The pain was searing in her skull, crushing her, like her world was collapsing all on her temples. Her body spasmed uncontrollably, small limbs flailing, muscles contracting against her will. Her eyes were rolled back, the electrodes firing volts into her small head… until the shaking finally stopped. The little girl laid on the medical table, trembling, terrified._

_"вы закончите, Наталия. We're finished, Natalia." The female voice spoke sternly. "идти мыть и сон. Wash your face and go to sleep."_

_She found herself floating - her feet weren't touching the ground as she struggled to walk against her weak body. Natalia ventured into the darkness, colours swimming in her mind - red…_

_Red was all she could see._

* * *

Natasha woke up with a gasp, beads of sweat on her forehead as her body shot up. Her hand instinctively swept across her thigh for her gun, but only to find nothing but the cold touch of her skin. Her torso slumped back onto the bed as her chest heaved.

The nights were amongst her least favourite times.

It'd gone on forever. Ever since she was a little girl, she'd had nightmares. The muscles she ripped during ballet training. Her trainer's words, washing over her. The electrodes on her head… The bodies… The red…

Most of the times, she'd just toss - but this… It'd been the second night in a row that she woke like that. _Get a grip, Natasha._

The archer entered the training room at 0955 hours, waiting for Fury or Coulson to appear.  _New things… Wouldn't they be in the arsenal?_

The assassin saw him in his black, sleeveless and training pants. _God, damn._  His muscles were even more defined than she'd imagined. The vein running along his left arm, the slight tan mark where the glove met his skin… "Good morning, Agent Barton."

"Good morning, indeed, Agent Romanoff." Clint eyed her in her sports bra and yoga pants. Even if it did press her breasts against her, they were still very impressive. The lines on her stomach showed her clearly defined abs, her tiny waist, and her pants only clung on to emphasise her perfectly shaped hips. And her legs… Curvy… They seemed not to end.

"Ah… Agents." Fury stepped in, sensing the heat in the atmosphere. "I've cleared the area just for you two, today. Take advantage of it."

"Wait… Us two?" Clint furrowed his brows, looking to Natasha before looking back at the man. "Two, sir? I thought you had something for me to try."

"Yes… You've been set as the supporting assessor, which means - "

"That I need to spar with her." Barton sighed, finishing off his sentence. "I was looking forward to some new gadgets, but I guess this is better…"

"You guess?" The redhead raised an eyebrow at him.

"You never know." He shrugged idly.

"Agent Coulson and Agent Hill will join you in a moment. I have some business to attend to, although I'm sure Agent Hill will be kind enough to show me the footage. I expect great things from you, Agent Romanoff. Have fun." Nick smiled to himself, almost like an inside joke.

"He always like that?" Natasha asked.

"More or less." He said.

* * *

"We'll begin with some simple exercises… Are you warmed up?" Hill looked at Natasha supportively as she nodded. "Please attach these to your chest, two inches below your clavicles."

Natasha stuck the two patches as instructed, Clint and Phil both trying to look away. "Five k?"

"Five k." Maria nodded. With a press of a button, the treadmill buzzed and the belt started to move. Natasha's legs carried her effortlessly through the first hundred meters. The agent handed her an oxygen mask. "We're scoring you based on performance, as you would expect."

"Is this about speed, heart rate, or what?" She breathed before sliding the mask below her pony-tail.

"The faster you do this, the more points you score. But we also monitor your heart rate and oxygen intake."

"The record?"

Clint smirked.

"Men or women?" Hill smirked.

"Both."

"Men - Just under thirteen minutes. Max heartrate - two hundred BPM." Hill looked at her clipboard, reading the small text.

"Who's it set by?" Natasha asked, although she already had a feeling.

"By? None other than our very own, Clint Barton." Phil laughed, clapping Clint on the shoulder, who shrugged, smirking.

"And the women's?"

"Women's - Fifteen minutes exactly. Max heartrate - two hundred and twelve BPM." She said again.

"I'm guessing it's yours?" Natasha turned to look at the brunette.

"That is correct." Maria nodded.

"You know, you better stop talking and run, Romanoff. You're slowing yourself down." Clint took two 20 kg dumbbells and started doing flies.

"Watch me."

That was the last thing Natasha said before she went quiet, increasing her pace until 13 minutes later, she was done. There was a slight sheen of sweat on her pale skin. Her chest heaved as she stepped off the treadmill.

"Time?" She asked, bending over to catch her breath.

"Thirteen forty five." The agent smiled, impressed. "I guess if anyone were to smash my record like that, I'd want it to be you."

"Thanks." She chuckled. "Next?"

"Fifty pushups, hundred sit-ups, hundred squats then ten pullups." Maria pointed to the mat that Coulson was laying out. "Whenever you're ready. We take your breaking time as well, mind you."

"Do you also record my fluid intake?" Natasha joked as she gulped down at least half a bottle of water.

"See, don't you like her sense of humour?" Clint chuckled, replacing the weights.

* * *

After a perfectly executed round of bodyweight exercises, Natasha sat on the mat, starting to feel her body get sore.

"I must say… I'm very impressed." Coulson chuckled from the bench he was sitting on, looking at Natasha.

"Thanks."

"Fury'll be happy." Maria smiled as she offered a hand to Natasha, pulling her up. "Clint?"

"Yeah?"

By now, the man was dead-lifting a 150 kg bar.

"Drop it. It's show time." Maria spoke to Clint as he lowered the bar, huffing out a deep breath before jumping over it and walking to the cage. "Remember, play nice, children."

Her jade green eyes looked up at his blue-grey ones. A fire lit up in them. As Clint wrapped up his knuckles, he did an easy stretch, lunging forwards and sideways. "Go easy on me, Widow."

"I'll try my best to kick your ass. It is an assessment, after all." She smirked, walking to her corner.

"So harsh, always." The archer stretched his arms out before his piercing gaze focused on her.

"Five rounds. Go." Hill declared.

The Widow was the first one to move, running directly towards the man. Using a leg to push her up, she stepped on his shoulders and aimed a kick at his chin. Of course, Clint saw this coming as he grabbed her ankle, lifting her easily with one hand and pressed his weight forward. As her head came closer to the ground, she curled up, a hand sweeping at the tendon on his ankle and making him lose contact with the mat. The two of them landed on the floor with a big whack.

Not skipping a beat, Clint crawled onto her, leaning his body against her as he locked her arms behind her back.

"Easy, Clint." Coulson tutted, looking at the pair that was enjoying themselves so much. With his words, Clint released her, stepping away and helping her up.

"I guess I  _do_  have the jump on you." He shrugged, a cocky smile spread across his face as he looked at the pissed off Widow.

"I guess you  _have_  been following and observing me for five months." She snapped quickly.

"I guess I have."

"You're not getting away so easily next time, Barton." She only chuckled as she planned her actions whilst walking back slowly, pretending to prod at the 'sore' regions that he'd just attacked. Natasha Romanoff loved a good challenge. It has been far too long that she sparred properly.

The serum not only increased her physical strength and potential, but also her cognitive space and awareness. It meant that she had double, if not triple the IQ of the average person, if and when she wanted to. She quickly pictured it, jab to the head, twisted arm, kick to the ribs and… thigh hold. _He'll get the idea._

Natasha felt a burning in her lower abdominal - not pain, he didn't hit her  _that_  hard. It was arousal. The strength he showed, his skin on hers, it made her burn with such a flame. Red hot.

She touched her gloves together, signalling that she was ready.

Like a predator, she stalked him, her eyes never leaving him. The right moment came when he blinked. Her hand shot out, hitting his just next to his temple. She quickly caught his hand and spun around, twisting it in an uncomfortable position. As he turned to unwind himself, Natasha brought herself up with his arm as leverage, sending her leg out as her ankle contacted his ribs squarely.

He fumbled backwards.

She took the chance.

Moving quickly, she jumped, opening her legs and clamping his neck between her thighs - but instead of snapping his spinal cord, she brought her weight down so by the end, she was sitting on his chest with her legs either side of his shoulders. Clint looked up at her, wolf whistling.

Before he could do anything else, she stepped away, grabbing his forearm and pulling him up, growling, glaring at him.

"Easy, tiger." He chuckled, licking his lips.

He'd never met anyone that could match his talents - not in the circus, not here. Until she came along. The fact that her spirit was as competitive, if not more, than his was fuel for his could've sworn there was a hint of the smell of arousal on her thighs.

The next three rounds were less harsh. The agents already had a taster of what she was capable of, and Phil wanted to keep Clint's neck intact. It was a see-saw, a back and forth showing of each other's abilities. They both absorbed it like sponges, Natasha would throw a few punches at his chest in his own style, and he would mimic her roundhouse kicks.

As Maria and Phil looked on, they sensed the happiness - the endorphins that floated amidst the sweat. A smug grin fitted itself on both their faces, although Natasha was clearly having more fun than all of them had ever seen. Even Clint was surprised to find her eyes sparkling with delightful spirit and enjoyment. And in a way - this was more relaxed than both of them had been in a long, long time.

"Since you two are only playing around, I'm going to have to stop you." Maria sighed, hating to be the one to stop them from their fun.

"But - " Clint pouted as he protested as he reluctantly peeled his hands off her.

"She has other assessments to go through. You can spar all you want after that. It's only eleven. You have the room the  _entire_  day." Maria scolded good-naturedly.

"She's right, Clint." Phil joined them by Maria's side. "It's only reaction testing and target assessment anyway, won't take long."

"Fine." He sighed. "I'll meet you down there. I just need a quick drink."

_What the fuck are you doing? Why are you enjoying yourself so much? Yes - she's witty, and beautiful, and charming, and she's not afraid to hurt you, but it's part of your job._

Clint scratched his head as he sat on the bench, a towel draped around his neck.

_Be careful what you wish for, Barton. One day - she might be the death of you._

* * *

When the archer joined them in the room, they'd already completed the treat assessment and reaction testing. Maria was setting up the target sheets while Phil was chatting to Natasha.

"When did you start your target practise?"

"When I was nine."

"You do this a lot?" He asked, crossing his arms.

"Yes." She answered, sighing, waiting for all of this to finish.

"What targets do you usually use, or did use?"

"People." She shrugged coldly.

"People?" His brows furrowed, looking across to her. "You mean… human shaped sheets?"

"No. People-people. Real people."

"Dead?"

"No. Living." She sighed. "In the Red Room… there were… war criminals. My mentors would set them loose in a room - of course they'd try to flee. It was a good moving target practise."

"Oh."

Clint listened, horror striking his mind. She couldn't have been serious. A little girl holding a weapon, shooting at… living beings. A shiver ran through his body as he moved next to her.

"Ready?" He asked, hiding his fear.

"I'm always ready."

"We're good on my end." Maria set, running her hand along the sheet one last time before pressing a button, the sheets moving to the side of the room. "The targets will move horizontally towards the centre. The quicker you shoot and the more accurate you are - "

"The more points I'll get." Natasha nodded, sighing. "What weapons am I using?"

"They're all on the table there. Each clip will be loaded with ten bullets. You get to choose five guns to try. We'll average out your score." Maria pointed towards the corner at the back.

Natasha walked towards the table, an array of handguns and pistols at various gauges set neatly. She ran her eyes over the options… _Ruger SR22, Walther PPQ, Kimber Solo 9 mil, Remington R1 Carry, Glock 17 Gen 4._  The assassin quickly made up her mind as to which guns to shoot, picking up the Walther PPQ.

* * *

With the head-sets in place, Natasha was motioned to begin the assessment. The first target moved from her right. Within a split second, 9 bullets were fired into the 4x zone, and 1 in the 5x.

Clint and Phil looked at each other, impressed.

The other targets increased in speed, but her shots were consistent and her score averaged out to 4.1. Natasha sighed as she slid off the headset and goggles, looking back at Maria for confirmation. "We're all done." She smiled with a thumbs up.

* * *

The 4 of them sat in the interrogation room, Maria flipping through her sheets of information and smiling. "You've passed - with flying colours! Congratulations. You are now an official member of SHIELD. You'll be authorised to access our facilities by tomorrow morning, no later. It's up to the Director to assign your position, although… You'll have a relatively easier time than the rest of us."

"Thanks." She smiled, content and freshly showered.

"You're the best I've seen…" Phil chuckled. "Apart from this man here."

Clint grinned, nodded. "Nah, man. I swear it was easier five years ago."

"Go have some lunch… Remember, the training room's open for the two of you." Maria ushered them out of the room.

"Yes, Ma'am." Clint waved them goodbye as he left with Natasha.

"Did you see the look on Clint's face?" She asked, sitting opposite Coulson.

"What, when they were sparring?"

"Just… the way he looked at her in general. He has a thing for her."

"Doesn't everyone?" Phil frowned. "Have you met her? She's the Black Widow. Even  _you_  have a thing for her. I've never seen Maria Hill smile so brightly to another woman before."

"True that." She sighed. "But Clint…"

"I know. I've never seen him like that before either. She has a thing for him too. The air between them crackles."

"Should we - "

"No. This stays between you and I. Fury doesn't have to know about it. And I have a feeling that even if he did know, he wouldn't care."

"Why?"

"The world's greatest marksmen and one of the best assassins. Why do you think?"

"Fair point, well made." Maria chuckled. "But he's going to sense it, soon enough."

"As long as Clint and Natasha keep it together."

* * *

"You look happier than ever." Natasha told Clint as they waited in line for their food.

"I am." He nodded, smiling, picking up a carton of milk.

"Why?"

"You're as good as me."

"You still beat me."

"I'm a man. I have the more immediate physical advantage, although, I see that the serum has made up for the most of it." He chuckled. "I've been training with the best since I was ten. I've been with SHIELD for almost five years now."

"You still beat me." She huffed, picking up her tray. The pair moved to their usual corner. Fury was waiting at the table.

"Agents." He nodded.

"Sir." Clint returned the nod, and Natasha remained silent.

"I need to borrow Agent Barton for a few minutes, would you mind?"

"Of course not, director." Natasha shook her head, sliding into her seat.

"We'll only be a minute."

"Don't wait up." Clint chuckled as he walked beside him.

"So?"

"Hm?"

"What do you think of her, Agent Barton?" Fury asked, taking him to the corridor.

"She's the best. Next to me." He shrugged. "What am I  _supposed_  to think of her?"

"Do you think you'll work well together?"

"Tog - what?  _Together?_ " Clint frowned. "No, no, that can't happen, sir."

"Why not?"

 _Because you're attracted to her._  "Because she's stubborn."

"I'm sure you'll work it out between you."

"But, sir - "

"It's an order, Barton. I've sent in the documents already."

"And what will we be known as?" The archer sighed, defeated.

Fury clapped Clint on the shoulder before walking back to his office, leaving him on the corridor. "Strike Team Delta."

* * *

"Apparently, we're a team, now." Clint huffed as he sat back down in his place.

Natasha nearly spat out her tea.

"We're _what?_ " She frowned with a stiff stare.

"We're a team. Apparently, now."

"Did you do this?"

"Me? What? No!" Clint made a face as he mumbled. "As pretty as you are, Romanoff, I prefer working alone. Fury seems to have other plans for us."

"You really think I'm pretty?" She asked softly.

"Who doesn't?"

Natasha had to actively repress her growing flush, she could feel her cheeks warm. _You can't let him see that_.

It's not like she hasn't been told before.

 _Here, we have an example of what men want. A relatively small girl._  The instructor motioned to Natalia, who was standing stiffly in front of the group of her peers.  _To make him feel big and strong. As you can see, Natalia here, also possesses large, firm breasts. For those of you who don't, our organisation will make them happen in the near future. Symmetry in her face, small waist in comparison to her hips, pouty lips. These are all good features that will make it easier for your work._

Being made a prime example made her feel _dirty_ as hell. Why her? Why not someone else?

She had no clue.

She'd also been told by countless of her marks, whether drunk, poisoned, or otherwise.

"You think it's going to work?"

"Hm?" She was caught off guard, completely. "Uh… We don't really have a choice, do we?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Mac is crashing! I plan on updating this story every Monday (given that my Mac is functional), so stay tuned for that.
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy it. Please help me by leaving comments and favourites and follows, I really appreciate any sort of response (let me know how I'm doing so I can improve and make it a better read (: ) xx


	3. Partners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strike Team Delta: Their first mission together.

**August 12th, 2006**

After 6 months of training, 6 months into their hot and cold partnership - this was it. It was their first mission together;  _finally._  Natasha had been so bored - stuck indoors, shooting practise, running through rules and protocols... It wasn't until the last month that she bugged Fury to let her out and do some actual missions.

Of course, she and Clint spent a lot of time at the gym - sparring, working out together. They grew accustomed to each other's presence, as if almost natural that they were together. Everything was a good sign. From the moment that she'd covered his ass in Budapest, Clint  _knew_ that there was an unexplainable yet explicit and instant chemistry between them.

Even the ever patient Clint was starting to struggle to keep it together. 6 months - only 1 tiny mission. Only 1 target, who was far too easy to take out for the archer's likings. He knew why Fury was doing this - he wanted him to keep an eye on the newbie, though, she was already much more experienced than the majority of the people back at base. It was trust issues - All assassins had them.  _Some more than others_. Obviously, Fury didn't trust the redhead to leave base, let alone mission time.

"Don't be nervous." Clint looked over to Natasha on the chopper.

"What tells you I'm nervous?" She raised her brow, her tone threatening, but she tuned it down a little after he flinched. "I'm not nervous."

"You haven't uttered a single syllable since we got on our ride. What's up?" He pursed his lips together, thankful that her hostility towards him had gradually dimmed down in the last few months. It was still funny to see her terrorise other agents, though. Phil and Maria were probably the exception - even Fury had kept his distance.

"I don't work well with others." She sighed, running a hand through her auburn hair.

"Well, now you do." He said supportively. "Remember what I told you?"

"We're the best." She stated in his tone. "How cocky can you get, Barton?"

"As cocky as need be, Romanoff." He said. "Relax. He's picked an easy one for us to begin with."

"Yes, yes… A simple find and kill. You've ran over the details with me a hundred odd times, naggy dimwit."

"That's because you've been nervous ever since we received it, anxious numskull."

"What I'm trying to say is that it shouldn't be that simple."

"You're over analysing things, Romanoff."

Natasha was glad that she'd established the "no first names on missions" rule. She was also desperately waiting for the mission-Clint to replace the  _Hawkguy-_ Clint. The man's tone of voice and playfulness was far more than distracting.

"Just trying to make sure." She said, sighing.

* * *

"Target acquired." Clint spoke through the headpiece, walking through the crowd with his tremendous smile. Already, he'd gathered a heard of bitches that flocked behind him. Pretending to think to himself, he looked up to the second floor, then at the ceiling, scratching his head with one hand.  _No security up top._  "Navy suit, your eight o'clock. He's talking to another scumbag, but he'll walk your way soon enough."

"Roger that." Natasha sighed quietly, taking a sip of her vodka.

"He might spike your drink." Clint chuckled, amused at how she held her alcohol.

"My metabolism allows me to fight intoxication as well as other things… He'd have to dose me enough for an elephant for it to start the fire." The assassin hissed, hating the underestimation. "I feel naked without my gun."

"Don't talk to me now, he's right behind you." He glanced at the man as he sat down beside Natasha, despite the row of empty stools. He turned off his own microphone.

* * *

"What brings you here tonight, my lady?" Julek Bilinski could not stop staring at Natasha the moment he'd set his eyes on her.

It was a cocktail party, which meant that she could flaunt her body in so many different ways.

For tonight, she'd chosen a silk dress, deep V cutting with ruches at the waist. Her flawless back was exposed to the evening mist, pale skin almost glowing in contrast to the navy fabric. Her dress only held up by two tiny spaghetti straps. With a pair of high heeled sandals to match the drop earrings dangling amidst her burning hair, Natasha felt refreshed, pampered and glamorous - and she acted that way.

"What gives my solitude away?" She quickly smiled at him, one overing his outfit. _Walther PPQ in right pocket._

"No date would leave such a beautiful girl alone… Not even a split second." He smoothly laughed, white teeth glistening. "Julek Bilinski. It's a pleasure, Miss…"

"Stokes. But please, call me Belle." She held out a hand for him to shake. He took it in his and kissed the back softly, deliberately.

"Can I buy you a drink, Belle?"

"That would be nice. Could I get a vodka with a splash of lime? Thank you." She smiled at the bartender, idly swirling her martini.

"It's a very pretty name, Belle. Doesn't it mean beautiful in Italian? It suits you very well."  _Kiss ass._

"My mum  _does_  have a thing with Italian things, pasta's a favourite in our household." She faked a giggle, rolling her eyes inside her head. "And is Julek a very Polish name?"

"Indeed." He nodded, taking his red wine and swirling the glass. "It is derived from Jupiter and it means love…"

"Oh my…" Natasha made herself blush, pretending to be struck back by his charm.

He wasn't  _that_ bad with her. In fact, he'd been smoother than most of the other marks in her history. His face was of the average Polish, short, dark hair, green eyes, a hint of stubble. She just preferred her men dead, with their necks twisted. _Save for one_.

"You're not from around here, are you? Your English is too perfect." He complimented her again, inching closer to her.

"American. Business trip to the conference." She lied, making sure that her accent doesn't slip. "Will I be seeing you there?"

"I'm afraid not… My company usually doesn't attend those sort of gatherings, although… I might have to make an exception for you." He breathed softly, looking into her eyes.

"You're flattering me!" Natasha looked to the side, shifting, faking a fluster. In the corner of her eye, she saw the bartender drop a small pill inside her drink. She looked at the man, taking her vodka without a hitch. "Thank you."

Natasha took a sip of it, sighing. It didn't taste any different to her regular drink. Any ordinary person would not have had a clue.

"Beautiful girls like you deserve to be flattered, and pampered, and  _loved…_ " Bilinski took a swig of his wine again. _He's waiting for the spike to kick in._

Natasha giggled, pretending that the alcohol was having an effect. "I like you…" She murmured as she placed a hand on his knee.

"I like you too, very much…" He used a hand to cup her elbow, taking the glass from her hand and placing it onto the bar. "You want to go somewhere so I can…  _love you_?"

"Yes…" She slurred her words, gently closing her eyes and resting some of her weight in his arms. "I want you to kiss me all over… Will you do that for me?"

"I'll do anything for you." He whispered again, clutching her gently. "Come on, we'll find a room in the hotel upstairs."

"I have one. Room five one eight." She chuckled, kissing his neck. "Oh… I think I'm a bit tipsy."

"You're completely fine." He lied, pleased that the spike had worked so quickly. "Let's go to your room."

* * *

Clint heard their conversation.  _All_  of their conversation.  _Damned motherfucking warlord._  His jealousy washed over him without a hint on his smile. He was talking to the ladies who were groping him like hopeless whores. "Who want's a drink?" He laughed easily, raising his whiskey up. "To all you beautiful ladies."

The archer quickly slipped out of the crowd, tugging on his collar to make sure it was still straight. Natasha was right; the plain white, button up shirt and black dress pants really did the job. Heck, he didn't even have to wear a tie. With one finger, he flicked his mic back to life.

He made his way to room 618, walking to the balcony and gathering their equipments. The hook attached itself to the railing smoothly, he tugged on it twice to check it was secure. Putting on his gloves, Clint quickly slid down to the balcony on the floor below, hiding behind the wall.

As promised, Natasha had bought him some time, by walking slowly to the elevator and in the corridors. The man had his mouth everywhere, her neck, her mouth. His hands were grouping her breasts roughly. Natasha prayed that he wouldn't ruin the dress - she could keep it for another mission, seeing the effect it had.

She moaned into his touch, which frankly was disappointing. For a man with his charm, she expected a little more than barbaric, wet and amateur fondles. He was like a teenager being with a girl for the first time. Natasha walked to the room, pretending that she couldn't get the card in properly. He quickly snatched it from her hand and did it himself, almost throwing her into the room and shoved her against the wall.

Natasha made sure that the door was closed and locked, kissing him back, her body slightly limp. She bent down to take off her sandals, tossing them idly to the side as she walked to the bed. Bilinski followed behind her, watching her hips sway as his cock pulsed.

He wasn't the only one watching.

Clint was watching through the cameras, hidden in the corners of the room. _Damn, girl._  He chuckled to himself, almost jealous of the man. "Jesus, he's all over you."

 _Shut your fucking mouth, Barton._  Natasha rolled her eyes as she sighed, working on the zipper of her dress. Julek covered her hands with his, tugging on the zip so it gave way. She quickly slid out of it, revealing her breasts and thong.

Julek almost ripped his pants when he saw them. "Belle, you are so beautiful." He whispered in a heavy accent.

"I want you…" She moaned as she used her hands to tease her nipples, moving onto the bed.

"I want you too, sexy." He chuckled, sliding his belt off and discarding his pants, tossing it to the floor. His hands moved up to grope her bare globes, kneading roughly.

"Oh, sweet Jesus!" She moaned out his cue once the threat was removed.

Clint moved swiftly inside the room, jabbing him in the shoulder with the tranquilliser as he smirked at Natasha.  _About fucking time_. He let his eyes linger on her bare torso before hauling the man over to one side, binding his hands and feet with zip-ties. Given that they'd basically guaranteed a successful mission, he loosened up, sighing.

"Eyes, Barton. I see where you're looking." She hissed, half-amused that he looked at her so obviously. His pants were bulging too, so there was no question that he saw the entire thing.

"I'm a man, Romanoff." He wrinkled his nose. "He's not the only one." _Stop right there, idiot._

"You're flirting with death."

"Aren't we all?" He chuckled, watching her as she pulled on her pants and bra and t-shirt.

"I swear to God, Barton." She growled, making a face. "I'll dig your eyes out with a spoon if I get the fucking chance."

"So harsh, Hotstuff." Clint laughed, making no move to cover his semi.

"Why didn't you poison him?" She asked, changing the subject, evidently annoyed by her nickname.

"Because, despite our orders, I think Fury would be far more impressed if we extracted information from him." Clint chuckled, flopping onto the bed. "He'll be up and going in around ten. You better gag him, too. Wouldn't want anyone else to know what we're about to do to him."

"I'll have to gag you, too." She scowled, shoving his underpants in his mouth. "If you don't shut your fucking mouth."

"That's borderline  _kinky,_  partner." He chuckled again. He suppressed a gulp and flinch, although his forearms did tense.

The room felt hotter, like electricity was running through both of them. The longer her reply took, the hotter it felt. When Natasha thought the air was crackling, she finally gave her reply, hissing.

"Shut the fuck up."

She was hiding her amusement. No-one had dared talk back to her. Clint was the exception to every rule. He made her feel so at ease with everything - with SHIELD, with the mission, with him…with  _herself._  Natasha was always one to worry, anxious little thing, he'd called her several times. There was an air to him that made her feel almost comfortable. And because of that, it was so frustrating to her. He was such an ass-clown, he even said so himself. In a way, however, Natasha appreciated it by throwing snide retorts at him.

The assassin bent down to pick up his phone, tossing it to Clint for him to check that there were no bugs - no way that they could be found out. She picked up his gun, smirking as she replaced it between his legs, pointing at his groin.

"Mmmph." Bilinski woke from the short-lived silence. "Mmmph!"

He took a look at the properly-dressed Natasha, his brows furrowing in confusion only to realise, seconds later, that he'd been played.

It was a look that Natasha was all too familiar with, a mark would expect to sleep with her, but only to their surprise, wake up naked, like an ass. Clint sat up, looking at the man amusedly. He enjoyed the look on their mark's face, eyes wide, pupils dilated in fear, underwear shoved in his mouth.

"You probably want to tell me the passcode to your server before I shoot your balls off." Natasha smirked, her chin lifting to motion to the gun. The man looked down, yelping immediately, struggling against the bonds in futility. "Passcode."

Bilinski shook his head, desperately yanking his arms and legs. "Mihshhhmphhh!"

"Oh well." Natasha faked a sigh. "Was worth a try."

Her hand reached to grab his gun, cocking it to load as she aimed at his groin. "Mpphhh, mmphh!"

"Looks like our boy over there has something to say." Clint laughed.

"The passcode. You scream or shout or give me the wrong passcode? I'll feed you your fucking balls and make sure you die in agony. Slowly." She smirked, removing the gun from him before taking his pants out.

"Tango, one, nine, charlie, golf, two, six." He recited, his voice shaking, tears of terror streaming down his face.

"You get that, Barton?" She looked back at her partner, shoving the pants back into his mouth.

"I'll try it now." He reached back to slide the bed-side drawer open, taking his laptop out and loading the security pathway. "How do you do this again? It's in Polish, I can't read Polish."

"You're hopeless." She chuckled. "You watch him, give me the laptop."

"Say the magic word." Clint raised an eyebrow at her, smiling to widely.

"Fuck you." She spat humourlessly, snatching the laptop and sitting next to him.

"You're no fun!" He looked over at her, still grinning.

"Watch him." She hissed.

"He's not going anywhere, Romanoff." Clint flopped back onto the bed, looking at the ceiling. "Say, d'you wanna get a drink before we meet up with Coulson?"

"Focus, Barton!" Natasha scolded, waving a hand dismissively. "Done."

"I was just enjoying myself." Clint said, sitting back up. "Get it to Fury via the encrypted network."

"I just did."

"Would you like to do the honours?" He chuckled as he walked over to the man.

"How should we do it?"

"Snap his neck. Throw his body over the building." He suggested.

"Sounds like a plan." She said, nodding, walking over to him.

Natasha eyed Clint once before rolling her eyes and reaching for the man's head, snapping his neck effortlessly. They cut the zip-ties together. Clint carried the man over his shoulders as Natasha took his legs, walking to the balcony. "Ready?" He asked. "One, two, three."

They swung their arms together, releasing his body and watched as he dropped with a loud crack. "Let's get the hell out of here."

**~End of Chapter~**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please (as always), review and favourite and share this around (:
> 
> As you might have noticed, I put an "inspiration" section under the AN (a few of you have requested this!)  
> A big thank you for those who've reviewed so far, you guys rock~
> 
> Really hope you enjoyed it (: xx
> 
> Inspiration: Nothing in particular (maybe MI4), but this chapter was modified from one of my previous fics, under the same name.


	4. Boys' Night Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil and Clint talk over some beers

**August 18th, 2006**

"Good week, huh?" Phil patted Clint on the back when he joined him. He was already on his whiskey.

"Yeah…" He huffed, smirking. "And your's?"

"Still the same. You know; paperwork." He chuckled. "Who's idea was it to put the Ukrainian idiot's hair and fingerprints all over the hotel room?"

"It was actually Natasha's. Clever thing."

"Saved us a lot of shit."

"What can I say? She gets the job done…" Clint took a swig of his whiskey. "Besides… she has a beautiful cleavage."

"Clinton…"

"What? I'm just saying!" He chuckled. "This rounds on me."

Phil knew there was something wrong. Clint looked more solemn about this matter than he did most things. He cared about Natasha, and he needed to make it work. Clint made the order with the bartender. Just the usual. He always had a whiskey before he is beers. Phil took a bud-light.

"You seem to be out more than usual."

"Ha!" Phil chuckled. "I was wondering when you'd ask. I met this lovely girl… she's a cellist."

"A cellist?" Clint raised an eyebrow, raising the bottle in his hand to toast him. "Score!"

"Yeah, a cellist. Wonderful, wonderful personality. She's pretty, too." Phil nodded as he pursed his lips. "She even invited me to one of her performances. It was amazing. Whatever she sees in me, man, whatever she sees in me."

"Don't say that, man. You're a great guy! I can testify to that." Clint crossed his heart with his two fingers.

"And you? You obviously like Natasha a lot." Phil smiled supportively at Clint.

"Aw, man! That obvious, huh?" Clint shrugged. "But, I mean, who doesn't?"

"Even Maria agrees. Since when did the Hawk work with a partner? A  _partner_." Phil said. "You didn't even put up too much of a fight with Fury!"

"She's really skilled. She's relentless. She's my type of girl." Clint sighed. "For one reason or another, she seems to trust me."

"You saved her life."

Clint paused for a second, scratching his head and taking a big gulp of his beer. "Fury's gonna have my balls if he hears about this."

"Oh, I think Fury knows." Phil raised an eyebrow at Clint as he gulped down the rest of his beer, ordering another whiskey with his Guinness. "You're not exactly hiding your feelings, Clint."

"I know."

"How is Natasha feeling about this?"

"I don't know."

"Talk to her about it."

"What? No! Are you crazy?  _Talk_  to her about it? Talk to  _her_  about it? No! Why?" Clint quickly made a face, dismissing the idea.

"Why not?"

"The thing is, Phil; I don't know if I can. Yes - I saved her life. Yes - she seems to trust me more than you lot, but… There's just… A boundary. I can't. I can't cross it. I can't expect her to feel what I feel after what she's been through."

"She's human. You said it yourself." Phil sighed. "Clint. You  _coward_. You can't just assume that she doesn't feel. You of all people know that she's human too."

"I know, buddy. I know. I sympathise." He nodded.

"Do you love her?" Phil asked.

Clint nearly spat out his drink.

"What? No! Well, I don't think so. Right now, the feelings have been contained to my cock, but you know." He gulped. "I can't guarantee it won't spread to my brain and… heart, if I have one. It's a growing problem."

"Love should never be a problem. Love is just a leap of faith you're not willing to take yet. You're scared to ask her about how she feels because you have an ego. You don't wanna get crushed. If she rejects you, you don't know what to do." Phil explained, sighing. "You've always been a ladies' man, Clint. You know you work your magic. You know exactly how to do it. Now you've met your match. Before you say anything, Clint - love comes in different forms. One might argue that  _we_  share a love. Frankly, I think it's what keeps us going. You and Natasha, on the other hand..."

"Exactly." Clint huffed. "What if that ruins our partnership?"

"I think she likes you too… Not  _as_  explicitly as you, but… It's a love-hate." Clint patted him. "Come on! The Black Widow yielding to your bow and arrow and heartfelt words? That should mean something."

"We barely talk about anything other than missions and fighting and that stuff. She doesn't seem to have a life outside of espionage, you know?"

"You play the guitar, you sing, very well, I should add. That's not until you joined SHIELD. Give her some time… She might need longer than you, after all that… brainwashing."

"Are you saying she's even more fucked up than me?"

"You're both equally as fucked up. Just in different ways. You have memory of your parents, your brother, the circus. You have things that are close to heart to lose. She had her country, her mentors, and I doubt she remembers anything beyond that. And we've basically ripped it all from her."

"Huh…" He hummed.

"It'll take a while for you to be on the same page, I'll give you that. But, Clint… I don't know. She'll either make you a better man, or the worst you'll ever be."

* * *

The pair spent the rest of the night watching NFL on the TV in the corner of the bar. By midnight, he'd had 6 whiskeys, 5 beers and 2 shots, and counting, pondering the older man's words. The archer was intoxicated and had lost the ability to stand up straight. Phil helped him onto a taxi as they made their way back to Clint's apartment. He dumped him onto the bed and took out an aspirin from his bedside table, placing it next to his alarm clock.

"Sleep well, buddy. Don't think about it too much." He turned off the lights and left for his own apartment.

* * *

Clint woke up to the buzzing of his alarm with an intense throbbing in his head. He squinted his eyes as he shook it off. Obviously, he's had too much to drink and Phil took him back to his place. He popped the aspirin before making a phone call.

"You know, you should thank me instead of just laughing into the microphone." Phil chuckled into the phone, already back at work in HQ.

"You shoulda just left me to rot on the street." Clint returned a similar chuckle. "Thanks, buddy."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you for reading! Please (as always), review and favourite and share this around (:
> 
> Okay! This was a short chapter, so I'm gonna upload the next one on FRIDAY! (:
> 
> Really hope you enjoyed it (: xx
> 
> Inspiration: H50 "McDanno" moments. (EHEHEHHEHEHE)

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy! Please help me review and favourite, spread the love (:


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